


the florida case

by bluebeholder



Series: the accidental epic [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Soul Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: The year is 1919. Senior Auror Percival Graves is in charge of a mission to take down a Dark wizard who committed a string of murders in Florida.He's never given much thought to the state of his soul, but this mission just might make him change that.





	the florida case

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY IS 100% UNBETA'D. PLEASE FORGIVE THE PROBABLE HOLES AND TYPOS.
> 
> My dad literally walked me through how to conduct a mission briefing and battle drill on the squad level so I could get this as tactically right as possible. You can thank him for that mission briefing. 
> 
> If you've forgotten/didn't read _a better mirror_ , James McGuinness was the Auror with whom Graves was a thing before he became Director of Magical Security. This mission takes place at a pivotal moment in Graves' career, and...well. You'll see how it affects things. Never let it be said that I only write happy stories. :))

“Senior Aurors only?” James mutters as they head up the stairs to the President’s office. 

“Must be pretty significant,” Graves replies in an undertone. 

James glances around at the other six Aurors. They’re all experienced, tried and tested in deadly combat. Qivia Jauncey, Voltimand Aguecheek, Juno Talbot, Ishtar Vaughn, Isabel Hamilton, Leonidas Reed…all famous, all with careers just as distinguished as James or Graves. “Think this is about Florida?”

“I’d like to think so,” Graves says. “It’s time for some decisive action there.”

They enter the President’s office side by side. President Bediwane Lynch stands at his desk beside the Director of Magical Security Seraphina Picquery. They’re bent over papers, in deep discussion; when the eight Aurors enter, both straighten and turn from their conversation.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of the Florida situation,” President Lynch says without preamble. He was an imposing man, once; these days, all that remains of his stature is his booming voice, strange coming from a man so frail. Though he’s held office for three terms, he won’t be running in the upcoming election. Rumor has it that Picquery will attempt to take the presidency—and anyone who hears that rumor believes it, and knows she’ll win. 

“Yes, sir.” Talbot answers for all of them. 

“Good,” President Lynch says. “Director, please brief the Aurors on the mission.”

“Intelligence has pinpointed the target—who we know only as Reimar—in a house in the middle of the Green Swamp in Florida,” Picquery says. She raps her wand on the map on the table and a three-dimensional model of the house, translucent, rises up from the ink of the paper so that they can all see it clearly. “You’ll be moving tonight. Portkeys will bring you to the consolidation line and you’ll Apparate to the roof of the house from there.”

She circles the table so that the Aurors can move in for a closer look. “There are three stories of the house, presumably with an attic. We haven’t been able to get anyone inside, so we lack a significant amount of intelligence on the interior layout.”

“Director, if I may—why are we making our move tonight?” Jauncey asks. 

“Unexpected complications,” Picquery says tersely. “Reimar has six No-Maj civilians in there with him and if they are not extracted they will be dead by sunrise.”

“Fuck,” Hamilton mutters. 

Picquery ignores the vulgarity. “We know that there are at least ten other wizards in there with Reimar, his most devoted followers, and cursory observation reveals heavy warding from the second floor down. They are not expecting an attack from above. It’s likely that they’ll attempt to flee the house. If not, then we expect a fight to the death.”

Graves stares at the house, memorizing the layout. He considers—there may have been a basement, once, but it’s a swamp. If it’s there it will most likely be flooded. The house looks like the foundations have been knocked out of it, leaning heavily to one side, the roof half caved in.

There’s no other wizards going in from MACUSA, so Picquery continues to the mission statement proper. “You eight will attack Reimar and his followers in order to destroy the threat he presents and extract the civilians he’s holding.”

Graves nods. A fairly simple drill, by their standards. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees James lean in, examining the model of the house in minute detail. Good: he’s the best sharpshooter in the Auror Office. He’ll be invaluable in this. 

“You are the only Aurors entering the house,” Picquery says. “There are intelligence and support personnel at the consolidation line, but if you fail in the mission we will destroy the house. It is far too dangerous to risk Reimar’s survival. McGuinness, Hamilton, you’ll remain outside. Any of Reimar’s followers who attempt to exit the house should be funneled into their line of fire.”

“Understood,” James says. Graves winces internally: there are two doors on that house and multiple windows. The assumption that wizards will go out into a specific line of funneled fire is a risky one, but he trusts James and Hamilton to handle the mess. 

“Civilian casualties should be removed to the third floor to await evacuation, once the upper floors are cleared,” Picquery continues. She doesn’t even look at Lynch as she says, “Let me be clear: there is no expectation that enemy combatants are to be held for questioning.”

An actual kill order. Picquery is giving them a kill order. What the hell is she doing? Such ruthlessness, while not unheard-of, is still beyond standard operating procedure. Even in a circumstance like this, dealing with an individual like Reimar, Graves can’t imagine giving such an order. 

“When the house is confirmed clear, evacuate yourselves and civilians to the consolidation line and order the destruction of the house,” she says. Now, that’s reassuringly normal. “You don’t require significant supplies or services for this. Requisition whatever gear you need; you have full access to all of MACUSA’s resources. The mediwizards have been advised that you’ll be collecting a full outfit of medical supplies, Aguecheek.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Aguecheek says, the words absolutely heartfelt. He’s the best triage wizard in the Auror Office. Graves is glad to have him doing medical for this. 

“Reed, you have permission to take what you need from Artifact Storage to clear the wards on the house,” Picquery adds, and the man inclines his head. He’s frighteningly good at dealing with curses and enchantments, and he’ll be an asset and a half.

And then Picquery turns and looks at Graves. “Graves, you’ll be directing this mission,” she says, and understanding punches into Graves. This is about the election, isn’t it? Picquery is securing her chances by taking down a notorious mass-murderer. And she’s not-so-subtly evaluating Graves for a position on her staff. Now is not the time to yell at her. 

She doesn’t give him any more time to think. “Talbot, you’ll take second; Reed, should your intervention be necessary, you’ll be third. After that, in order: Vaughn, Jauncey, McGuiness, and Hamilton. Aguecheek, if things go so poorly that you are the last man standing, I expect you to retreat immediately to the consolidation line and give the order to destroy the house.”

Picquery looks around at all of them one last time. Graves quietly does the same. This is his team. James and Hamilton, to be his sharpshooters. Vaughn and Jauncey, to be his firepower. Aguecheek, to be his medic. Talbot, to be his second in command. Reed, to be his engineer. He couldn’t ask for a better team, couldn’t build one if he tried. 

“The time is now nine thirty-five P.M.,” Picquery says with a glance at the clock. If she bothers to follow standard operating procedure, they’ll have ninety minutes before departure. “Graves, I want a back brief by ten forty-five P.M. Departure at eleven sharp. Any questions?”

“No, Director,” Graves says, absolutely confident that there are none. They’re the best Aurors that MACUSA has to offer. A mission like this is exactly what they’ve trained for since they began their careers in the Auror Office.

James sticks by Graves’ side as they exit the President’s Office, heading their separate ways to perform pre-mission duties. “So,” he says lightly, “one last good mission.”

“One more,” Graves says, glancing at James. The other Auror is taking an assignment in France, a stepping-stone on his way to a distinguished career in the European arm of MACUSA. 

“This’ll look good on your résumé,” James says, looking sideways at Graves. 

“I think Picquery isn’t even going to bother with a résumé,” Graves says wryly. “This looks a whole lot like a test run to see if I can be Director.”

James stops and pulls Graves to the side, into a nook out of immediate visibility. There are few people in MACUSA at this hour, so no one will chance upon them. It's not that their relationship is forbidden, but no good Auror will flaunt such things while standing in the middle of the Woolworth Building. And they're the best of the best. Hence the corner. Graves lets James hold his hand, lets himself look into James’ face earnestly, memorizing it. “Good,” he says. “Percy, this is…this is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“I know,” Graves says. He leans forward and rests his forehead against James’, closing his eyes. “I want you to promise to stay safe. But…”

James sounds like he’s smiling. “We’re Aurors. No promises.”

He’s leaving in two weeks. It’s killing Graves, a little. They’ve been together so long, spent years as colleagues, friends, best friends, lovers…and it’s all ending. Tonight, if they’re unfortunate—in a little more than a week, if they’re not. 

“Take care of yourself, anyway,” Graves murmurs. 

“I will,” James replies, just as soft. “If only because you promised to take me out to dinner on Sunday night.”

Graves draws back a bit and smiles. “I did, didn’t I?”

James’ eyes sparkle. “You did. And I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Good,” Graves says. 

It is good. This mission will go fine. It’ll be in and out, quick and easy. Take out the target, rescue the civilians, come back to MACUSA. James will be all right.

***

An explosion rocks the house. There’s a scream and then a brief moment of total silence. Graves, holding down a position at the top of the stairs to the first floor, can’t look away from the two wizards who’ve taken cover at the bottom of the stairs and are engaging him in a fast-paced, deadly duel. He hurls a Biting Jinx at one and sidesteps a blast of white light that should have taken off his head.

“Reed down!” Aguecheek shouts, somewhere behind. Reed must have set off a trap. One mistake and he’s gone.

Vaughn appears beside Graves and snarls out an incantation that sends lightning surging down the stairs, hitting both wizards at the bottom of the steps. Both of them crumple, and Graves takes the chance to look at her. She stares back, grimacing; Vaughn and Reed had worked together on many cases. 

“Thunderbird!” Talbot yells. That’s the code word: the second floor is clear. They just have to clear the first floor and that’s it, this mission is over.

Graves doesn’t wait. They know the procedure. They’ll come back for Reed when the fighting is over. He heads down the stairs, Vaughn on his heels. He hears Jauncey and Talbot running down the stairs behind them. Aguecheek will follow—he’s no slouch in the combat department, but they have to presume civilian injuries, so Graves is holding the man in reserve. 

As his feet hit the boards of the first floor, Graves hears a scream outside. Someone must have tried to escape and run straight into James or Hamilton. They’re circling the house, waiting for anyone to try to run. He calculates quickly: there were a minimum of ten wizards, and seven have been taken down so far. Four, counting Reimar, should remain.

They break off into pairs: Talbot and Jauncey, Graves and Vaughn, clearing the rooms of the house. It’s eerily quiet. Until—

“Hostiles!” Jauncey screams.

Graves and Vaughn turn almost as one and rush toward the sudden sounds of fighting. Talbot is thundering out curses, Jauncey sounds like she’s got the rotting furniture animated, and all in all it sounds like they’re handling the situation easily. 

Just as Graves reaches the door he sees a witch rise up from her cover behind a collapsed section of floor and fire a Killing Curse right at Talbot.

She doesn’t get a chance to scream. 

The murderous witch doesn’t see Graves. 

She doesn’t get a chance to scream, either. 

Aguecheek bursts into the room mere seconds later, takes one look at Talbot’s limp body, and shakes his head. “Killing Curse, wasn’t it,” he murmurs. “Damn. We’ll miss you, Juno.”

“Where is Reimar?” Graves snaps. They don’t have time for this. His hands might be shaking. He’s never cast a Killing Curse before. He might be authorized to do so, but something about it feels like he tore a hole in his damn soul. Jauncey is staring at him like she doesn’t recognize him and they don’t have time for that either. Killing someone with the Killing Curse shouldn’t be so different from killing someone with a Biting Jinx through the jugular or through dropping a wall on them. But it is. It really is.

“I don’t know,” Vaughn says, moving through the room, checking for traps and wards, apparently unaffected by all this. “Wampus, incidentally.”

The first floor is clear, and they haven’t found Reimar. Or any of the civilians. Damn. “Call McGuiness and Hamilton inside,” Graves says, pacing out of the room, performing his own sweep, just in case. “If Reimar’s gone, nothing to be done. If he’s here, I want everyone involved.”

Not a minute later, James and Hamilton are back inside. Graves is—happier than he should be, happier than is professional, to see that James is all right. He has a shallow cut on his shoulder, which Aguecheek patches up quickly with Murtlap Essence and a bandage. Hamilton has mud up to her knees, from chasing a fleeing wizard right into the swamp water, but is otherwise unaffected. 

It’s Jauncey who works it out. “Graves,” she calls from the kitchen. “Trap door.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Vaughn growls. “There actually is a basement?”

James crouches beside the trapdoor, once Jauncey and Graves have ripped aside the thin veils hiding it from easy sight. “I don’t think it’s trapped,” he mutters.

“Then get it open,” Graves says. He’d like to tell Vaughn or Aguecheek to do it instead, remove any risk to James, but that isn’t something he can do. Right now, they aren’t James and Percy, friends and lovers. They’re Aurors McGuiness and Graves, subordinate and commander. 

The moment that the trap door opens, the sickening stench of blood fills the kitchen. Hamilton retches, stumbling out of the room, and Jauncey goes pale. Someone is whimpering, down in the darkness, and a male voice is chanting. Reimar. The civilians.

“Aguecheek, McGuinness, get the civilians out of the basement. Hamilton, Jauncey, you wait here and evacuate them. Vaughn, with me,” Graves says. 

They don’t bother with stealth, running down the stairs. Reimar never stops his chanting. Graves hits the ground and has half a second to process—three individuals in varying states of injury chained to the wall, bloodstains everywhere, torches flickering, two bodies sprawled on the floor and cracked open like something on a dissection table, a man who can only be Reimar holding a sixth individual in the air with magic, a table with a silver chalice set upon it—and then he’s raising his wand. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

Reimar whips around. “Protego!” Graves’ attack hits a silvery shield but it did exactly what he wanted: Reimar’s captive drops to the floor. He must have some consciousness remaining because, laboriously, he begins to crawl away.

The basement is close and cramped and the floor is inches deep in thick mud. Reimar isn’t good enough to fight two Senior Aurors at once, but he’s got terrain advantage for which they weren’t prepared. The priority is killing Reimar before he can injure any of the Aurors or the remaining civilians. Vaughn knows it and is already circling as best she can, trying to get a new angle. She and Graves hammer Reimar with hex after hex, nothing big, nothing fatal, because one misfired spell and they’ll kill someone innocent—

He sees James in his peripheral vision helping Reimar’s latest victim up to get him out, and someone throws a curse and he doesn’t see who but it’s going to hit James and the civilian and Graves can’t get there in time—

And then Aguecheek is between James and the curse and it hits him, hits him hard enough that he’s hurled across the room and hits the wall with a horrible crack—

Reimar laughs. 

It’s his undoing. 

He isn’t watching when Vaughn takes aim. He never gets the chance to block the Slashing Hex she fires at him, ripping him open from should to hip. He doesn’t get the chance to block the vicious curse Graves casts on him. He falls to the floor, mouth still open in a twisted laugh, torn as wide open as the bodies of his victims. 

Vaughn and Graves are the only ones left in the basement. Overhead, they can hear James and Hamilton talking fast, footsteps moving through the house—the civilians are being evacuated, then. All according to plan. 

“Fuck,” Vaughn whispers, crossing the room to crouch beside Aguecheek. “You stupid, self-sacrificing bastard.” 

Graves, numb, studies the table. There’s the chalice—he collects that, for evidence—and a small sheaf of papers—which he also collects. When they’ve gotten the bodies out of the house and the civilians back to the consolidation line, Graves gives the order to destroy the house. 

***

“These are poorly copied pages from Secrets of the Darkest Art,” the researcher says. “Only known copy is at Hogwarts Castle in England. This isn’t it. I sent for a transcription of what I could glean from this section, and only about half of it is what’s actually in the book…whoever copied this wasn’t trying for accuracy.”

“What’s the purpose?” Picquery asks. 

They’re back at MACUSA. The four remaining Aurors have been debriefed and sent on their way. The No-Majs are under medical observation until it’s safe to interrogate and Obliviate them. Graves is with Picquery, examining the papers. 

The researcher looks a little haunted. “He was playing with the First Fundamental Law of Magic,” she says. “Trying to rip the essence of his self into pieces, so he could stick half his soul into that cup.”

“What?” Graves demands. “What kind of Dark magic is that?”

“The Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts called it a Horcrux,” the researcher says. “But…Reimar didn’t have to kill those people that way. He didn’t have to…”

“Get to the point,” Picquery says gently. 

The researcher swallows hard and nods. “You only have to kill once,” she says softly. “That’s enough. To tear up your soul. Irreversible damage to the self.”

“Does any killing do that?” Graves asks. She looks shaken all the way through, poor woman. She must be new to research, if she hasn’t seen things like this before. Come to think of it, Graves might be shaken, too. He’s still feeling numb. It’s like some part of him has gone missing. Maybe it’s just the thought of those bodies, the bone-shaking relief that James walked out alive, the emptiness left after so much adrenaline and rage. 

“I don’t—I don’t think so,” she says. “The magic—it has to be a contact of souls. Which means that the only thing that would truly tear the soul is the Killing Curse.”

Fuck. 

“So that cup—”

The researcher shakes her head. “No. No. It’s not a Horcrux. Reimar didn’t—he didn’t kill anyone with the Killing Curse. He thought it had to be. Awful. Bloody. The Killing Curse is clean, at least, not—”

She starts to cry. Picquery dismisses her, a small mercy. Then she turns to Graves. “How many Aurors do we have who’ve used the Killing Curse?”

“You’ve authorized a lot of those, lately,” Graves says. 

Picquery meets his eyes. “Are you feeling like yourself?”

“I’m tired, Director,” Graves says, in lieu of an actual answer. “I just got back from the bloodiest mission I’ve seen in a while. All I want is to finish my report and go home.”

There’s a brief pause as Picquery studies him. They’ve never been particularly close as friends, not when Seraphina Picquery is the prodigious talent that she is, running in circles so far above him that she might as well be out among the stars. But they do have a professional relationship. They have each other’s backs. It’s why he’s under consideration to be the Director of Magical Security when she’s elected. “You and James McGuinness are together, yes?”

“Yes,” Graves says. No sense prevaricating. Their relationship is as badly hidden as the one between two young women in the preliminary stages of Auror training, or the one between Isabel Hamilton and her man down in Wand Permits. 

“Take care of each other,” Picquery says. It’s a surprising comment, from her; this woman gave a kill order not seven hours ago. She’s ruthless and dangerous and sometimes it’s easy for Graves to forget that she has a heart. “And take tomorrow off, both of you.”

“Thank you, Director,” Graves says. 

Picquery half-smiles. “It’s the least I can do.”

Graves leaves after that. He’s a little preoccupied with the sudden notion that his soul has probably been torn in half because he cast a Killing Curse in retaliation for Talbot’s death. He’s never cast a Killing Curse before. Is that why he’s so numb? Why everything seems so strange?

James is waiting in the lobby of the Woolworth Building, just about empty at this hour of the night. He has Graves’ coat in his arms, and helps Graves put it on. They go out together into the dark street. It’s not yet four o’clock in the morning, and there are few people about. No one to notice two men walking down the empty sidewalk.

“Sorry that had to be your last mission with me,” Graves says, after a while.

“Blame Reimar, not yourself,” James says. It’s a far cry from his usual flippancy.

Graves casts him a sideways glance. “I do.”

“Son of a bitch had it coming.”

They walk in silence for a block or two. 

Finally, James asks, “Are you all right, Percy? You seem…odd.”

“It was a bad mission,” Graves says. 

“No, I’ve seen you after those,” James says. “This is…different.”

Graves sighs. He doesn’t want to mention the possible effect of the Killing Curse. He doesn’t. He can’t throw that kind of weight onto James’ shoulders, not now. “There’s a lot to think about. The mission. The election. You.”

“Oh,” James says. He doesn’t mention that last thing to think about. “So Picquery didn’t drop you, even though…”

“It’s very clear that they all did things of their own will,” Graves says. “I should be taking the responsibility, but Picquery is making sure I’m clear. She wants me on her team.”

“Well. Your dreams will all come true.” 

Graves shakes his head. “Not all of them,” he says honestly. 

James stops at the curb, staring fixedly up at a street light. “Please. Please, can we pretend that none of this is happening for a while? I don’t…I can’t. Not tonight.”

Graves takes James’ hand. Not tonight. Not tomorrow, either. The day after that…then they’ll worry about everything. And maybe this strange numbness won’t go away. Maybe he’ll grow used to it. He suspects that everyone around him will think it’s because of a bad mission, because of James’ absence, because of the weight of the duties of the Director of Magical Security. 

And maybe, just maybe, Graves thinks as he and James walk toward James’ apartment, he can convince himself that all of those things are true.


End file.
